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Blood for the Fields: Day 1
Mikin Wood: Shade Oak Forest ---- ::A small spring gurgles next to a cluster of shardwood and shade oak trees. Chitters can be heard trilling and capering about in the higher branches. Smaller animals rustle through the shrubbery. ---- Wolfsbane lingers in the forests, settled near a small flowing stream, resting on his haunches. He stares into the water thoughtfully, considering the rushing water, occasionally dipping a gloved hand in to watch the flow of it around. Meian comes wandering in, idly brushing a leather-clad forearm across the forehead in protest of the night's warmth. The gathering dark shades Vhramis from her view for the moment, her small frame flitting through the trees of the orchards and examining them with loving attention for illness or health. Remaining crouched for the meantime, Vhramis puffs a soft breath as he continues staring at the rippling water, lifting his hand out again and shaking off the clinging water. He is a bit removed from the orchard, spotted by the ever-present blue glow of his bow should one be looking. Meian pauses in the forest to rub a tree rather affectionately, murmuring to it a low voice, "Are you t-thirsty? I'll g-give you some rain later, d-don't worry about i-" The blue halo then catches her eye from where she stands within the trees, and she flushes deep red, clearing her throat. "Oh. Uh, ah. H-hello..." Peeking her head out, she ascertains just whose blue glow it is- "Master Wolfsbane?" Vhramis gives no indication of having heard Meian's discussion with the tree, only glancing back once spoken to. He rises to a full standing position, stretching his legs slightly as he half turns to nod to her. "Hello," he replies with a small nod and smile. Meian blinks, her gaze sliding over to the spooked horses as she slips out of the trees... embarrassment disappearing into faint curiosity in the form of pursed, frowning lips. "What's w-wrong?" she questions softly of Vhramis. "All of the h-horses are restive at o-once. Oh, Whinny, I left him t-tied to a tree further out for a moment..." She hesitates, looking back to the road. Atop Aegis, Coming into the clearing, Griedan dismounts clumsily, looking oddly upon Aegis as the animal appears agitated. He leads him over to the stream to drink and then approaches the figure of Vhramis in the woods. "Light's greetin's, both o' yeh." he says cheerfully, looking back to his mount again as Meian speaks. "Aye... somethin' in th' air..." he says nervously, his hand going to the weapon at his side. A young Seamel slowly strides into the wood from the direction of the road, leading a small, bay Trotter by the reins. He doesn't notice the others present, especially when the mare comes to a halt, shaking her head up and down nervously. "Shhh," the nobleman says, moving back to take hold of the mare's bridle-strap as she whickers quietly, "Easy, Cleo. There's nothing wrong." Though his tone is reassuring, he looks out to scan the darkening wood. Glancing past Meian to the shifting horses, Wolfsbane scratches at the top of his head, not having an immediate answer. "I'm unsure. Maybe they caught scent of something or another?" he suggests with a blank expression, looking to the two new arrivals, before glancing wood-ward, sniffing once as if he could smell it himself. "Oh... I'm not a horse," he mutters to himself, as if remembering. As nobles and freelanders alike converge on the wooded clearing, a small figure appears out among the shardwood trees. He ambles through the woods placidly, whistling as he wanders along. Stepping from behind the broad trunk of an oak, the young man is more clearly identified as Syton Temple. Syton doesn't seem terribly surprised to find so many here, new arrivals included. He smiles and nods politely between them, silent. "I'd s-scent the air if it w-wouldn't make everything worse," Meian murmurs anxiously, her pale gaze searching around herself in endless circles. Of no one in particular, she worriedly inquires, "S-should I... do you t-think I should go f-fetch my horse? He might be a-afraid out there by himself..." "Where is he?" Vhramis asks Meian, lookig back to the girl to tilt his head curiously. "If he's not too far out, we may as well...though does he know the way back? I can go with; it's not exactly as if I was doing much." He gestures a hand down to the stream again in demonstration. Through darkening woods whicker arrows from shadowed bows. One of the projectiles impales Lyddmull's horse, Cleo, through the neck. She goes down on her side, hooves flailing as she moans and shudders from the attack. Another arrow just misses Varal's leg and plunges into the flank of his horse. Other arrows whistle through the stagnant air, bound for Meian and Vhramis. Griedan and Temple notice figures in the woods, barely discernible, dark in color and bulky in stature. Humanoid, perhaps, but not *quite* human... Syton leans casually against his quarterstaff and looks between Meian and Vhramis. "Why would a--" he cuts off abruptly at the hail of arrows, standing up and holding his quarterstaff in a ready position. "Shades! Cover!" Catching sight of the figures through the trees, Syton scampers behind the broadest tree nearby, moving with great enthusiasm. Meian jerks suddenly, abruptly, her face contorting into a momentary rictus of startled pain. Her breath hitching in her throat, the girl slowly looks down, seeming as surprised as anyone to see the shaft that clearly extends through her right shoulder. "O-oh..." she gasps quietly, staggering over to lean against a tree, a dark stain seeping to blacken her armor further in the night. Varal slow rides into the Mikin woods, seeing a group of people congregating there despite the fading sun. He opens his mouth, either to greet or question, when an arrow pierces his horse. The Mikin spits out a few choice curses and dismounts in one smooth motion. He slaps the horse, sending it galloping away without actually checking the injury. Within moments, his longsword is flickering into his hands. "Light above," the man hisses, and then shouts, "OUT OF THE WOODS. MAKE FOR THE ROAD." Griedan shrugs his shoulders at Meian when she asks of her horse, a pair of moving mountains. Suddenly, he stops and peers into the woods. "Git down!" he shouts of a sudden, pulling his weapon from the holder at his belt and seeking cover behind a tree as the arrows begin to rain down upon them. Unfortunately, being as his connection to the Light causes him to glow, hiding is not really an option. He looks over at Meian just in time to see the arrow plunge into her chest. The young woman's name is screamed into the woods. Wolfsbane winces slightly at the distant thrum of bowstrings, instinctively jerking to the side just in time to watch an arrow whiz by his chest. One could almost swear it just barely scraped against some of the mail on his chest as it shoots by to thud into the ground. "That's not your horse," he blurts, likely the first thing to come to mind as he begins back-pedalling, before turning to bolt. He hesitates upon seeing Meian slumped against the tree, arrow buried in her chest, changing course to spring to the girl in an attempt to grab her and drag her behind her chosen tree. The Seamel is just about to pat the mare's neck when an arrow suddenly appears beneath his hand. His eyes widen in shock and horror as he jumps back to avoid the falling mount. One hand moves unbelievingly to the arrow while the other reaches down inside his saddlebags. Even from the soft leather of the bag, the steel weapon that he withdraws from it sings softly in the twilit forest. The shout of Griedan drags his attention away from the fallen animal and he looks to the gathered freelanders in a moment of indecision before he leaves Cleo and sprints towards them. One of the two dark-skinned figures shifts left through the trees as it fires off another arrow, this one aimed at Griedan. The squeaky wheel gets the pointy end of the arrow. The other dark-skinned creature holds its position in the woods, drawing a bead on Vhramis now that Wolfsbane has his back turned and his focus on the girl. Another arrow flies free. There's a helpless little gurgle of surprise from Meian as her hands close around the arrow where it pierces the skin, perhaps in some useless attempt to staunch the bleeding. She's easily moved by Wolfsbane, a bundle of unresisting and shocked bones, to slump against the other side of the tree in something resembling cover. "It... it hurts," she whispers up at Vhramis, fingers clutching in the bloody leather. The arrow plunges through Wolfsbane's back, penetrating the ringmail enough to cause serious pain, but only an inch or so before it halts in the rings, and just left of the spine - thus avoiding paralysis for the woodsman. Varal growls under his breath as the freelanders take cover rather than heed his advice. Sword in hand, the Mikin begins creeping into into the trees, attempting to avoid notice while finding where the pesky archers may be. He makes sure to keep looking back at Vhramis and Meian, hoping to be able to get an idea of where the arrows might be coming from. Syton peeks out from behind his tree slowly, silent now, surveying the scene as quickly as he can before slipping back behind his round wooden protector. He leans his back against the tree, quarterstaff held close to his chest. After taking a moment to collect himself, he darts out from behind his tree, towards another, slightly less-broad one near the tree. The Freelander moves quickly but quietly, ducked low, trying to avoid attention. Varal is able to get close enough to see the archer that has shot both Meian and Vhramis. He should be familiar enough with the appearance of a Black Wildling. This one's wearing mismatched bits of chainmail and scale armor, including a badly dented helmet - probably plucked off some luckless victim in the past. And the Black Wildling is nocking another arrow in the bow. A soft, meaty 'thud' answers Meian's comment, Wolfsbane's eyes widening a bit as he's thrown forward from the force of impact of the arrow, the ranger hitting the ground with a grunt. He grabs at the ground to drag himself, as he can, behind the chosen tree with Meian, facing it instead of with his back to it, of course. "Stay down," he mumbles, words slurred slightly as he grimaces at her, pressing himself against the bark at her side for a moment to try to gather his wits. Griedan is taking cover behind a tree and as the creature flanks him and misses, the arrow sticking into the ground, the large, glowing mason does something, if not the sensible thing, by charging that figure, darting around trees, his mace grasped tight in his right hand, held ready to crush the skull of whatever it is if he can get close enough to use it. Somehow unscathed, the Seamel skids into a crouch near Meian and Vhramis, his face paling as he sights the arrow embedded in the young woman's chest. He turns to Vhramis, concern in his eyes as he looks at the arrow in the man's back. "We need to get out of here," he states flatly, "If they are all around us, we'll be finished." Breathing in hasty, ragged, pained little breaths, Meian sinks down low, her back to the tree instead of her front- probably because it's the only way she can keep herself up at all. She doesn't make any other motions than to curl up in a tiny ball there at the bottom of the tree, keeping her gaze out so she can at least watch if another arrow's coming. A feral grin appears on Varal's face, broad and merciless. Slowly, carefully, he raises up his longsword for a heavy, downward slash at the Wildling's neck. The Mikin sucks in a huge breath, filling his lungs to capacity, then strikes. "LIGHT AND LIGHT'S REACH!" he bellows as loud as he can manage, trying to distract the wildlings from their prey and perhaps cause panic now that he's amongst them. At least, amongst some of them. Innocently strolling along into this usually quiet portion of the wood is the extremely unobvious form of the half-plate clad Norran Lomasa, cloak barely fluttering as he moves lightly through the forest. He even seems to be humming a gentle tune to himself, perfectly serene as he moves through the warm evening. That is, until he halts abruptly at the sight of the various victims here, green eyes widening abruptly at the surprising imagery. A hand immediately launches to the hilt of the claymore over his shoulder, making a dash toward the nearest bit of treeline he can find. Stealth is none of his concern. Wolfsbane finally prepares himself enough to push away from the tree again, a long, determined grunt escaping his throat from the shifting arrow in his back. "Need to pull this out from me," he explains to Lyddmull, managing to look to the Seamel through great force of will. "And...staunch it with something quick. It'll bleed." Understatement? An inexplicably shiny target comes running clumsily through the woods, and the mobile Black Wildling suddenly stops, lets the bow fall to its side, and draws a nicked dagger from a sheath at its side. The creature spins as Grieden rumbles past and lashes with the blade, severely cutting the glowing man's throat. The blade just misses the jugular, but it's still going to be a nasty wound, fatal if untreated. The creature then spies Norran Lomasa and runs in his direction, licking Griedan's blood off the edge of the blade. And close behind the arrows follow the archers. Abandoning the long-range weapon for one much more effective in close combat - its own claws and teeth - one hulking figure, plated in mismatched armor, rears back with an answering shriek of bloodlust at Varal's challenge before it charges forward, claws leading. It's quiet, the voice that Meian manages to offer up towards Lyddmull and Wolfsbane, becoming fainter and fainter as she manages to force out a few words. "We... fall back... Night's Edge." Her hands falling away from the arrow in her chest, sticky and stained with blood, the girl stares forward with a slow blink against gathering tears, her crumpled body as limp as a ragdoll. Griedan crashes to the ground, bleeding his life out all over the leaves and detritus upon the forest floor and lies there motionless, his soft glow beginning to falter and fade within the wood, leaving him all the harder to locate in the failing light of evening. A glancing blow, mostly spanging off the Black Wildling's patchwork armor, is all Varal gets for his effort. The blade digs in a little, causing a nuisance to the Wildling more than anything else - and giving it all the more reason to attend to the Mikin nobleman. Lyddmull releases a near-silent cry as he looks up in time for Griedan to fall. His sword arm twitches for a moment as he seems to consider running to the smith's aid. He turns to Vhramis, his face tight with emotion. "If you can run, run," he says to the man as he leans down to attempt to collect the bard-mage at the base of the tree. The Wildling whines, teeth bared, looking almost surprised for a moment that anything the Mikin nobleman had fielded would actually hurt, before it lashes back, claws flashing absurdly bright against its dark skin. The Black Wildling that shot Meian and Vhramis - and then slashed Griedan's throat - closes on Norran Lomasa and ducks low, swinging at the nobleman's leg with the dagger, but Norran manages to dodge the blow. An alarmed expression rises to Vhramis' face as Lyddmull makes his intentions clear, shaking his head. "Don't go out! Archers," he rasps from the sudden movement of attempting to grasp back for the man. He flails in vain at that, before rolling his bow off his good shoulder and staring at it for a moment, as if wondering how he's going to even manage this. Shaky hand fumbles with the capped quiver at his waist, trying to tug it open, an exceedingly painful endeavor. Meian is easily gathered up by Lyddmull, with only the faintest sound of protest escaping her as the arrow shifts in a no doubt painful fashion. One touch reveals the bard has been bleeding quite copiously and is continuing to do so, armor slick and slippery all around the puncture. She lolls motionlessly, an unresisting doll. By the time the claws sweep at the Mikin, he's no longer in that space. A lopsided smile waits on his face. He spits at the beast before him an instant before swinging his sword. "You invaded the wrong family's woods, you damned scum," he hisses, huffing as he heaves the sword at the wildling's chest. "FOR THE LIGHT!" he howls a second time, still trying to make himself a target, having seen more people fall. “Hah," grunts the Lomasa, managing to sweep his leg away at the last moment. The sword in his hands gripped tightly, Norran attempts a strong rebuke to the creature attacking him. Planting himself in place and taking up a stance, Norran brings Retribution's blade down to sweep it horizontally toward the creature's torso, his expression growing concentrated and expressionless. Because the creature is in a crouch while trying to attack Norran, the torso sweep is actually going toward the Black Wildling's neck - and decapitates it neatly. Well, neatly doesn't quite fit, because the mess that follows isn't neat at all. Spurting dark blood issues forth from the neck as the severed head plops onto the ground. The twitching body falls the other way, clutching the dagger as it hits the mossy earth. Ferocity it may have, but the finer points of swordsmanship escape Varal's opponent. Even as the wildling stretches close to claw for the man's throat again, the sword slides through ill-fitted and cracking leather into flesh beyond. For a moment, the creature seems not to realize yet that it is dead. Jaws snap with an audible clack before the Mikin's face as the wildling advances one more step before its eyes glaze and it sags toward the ground. A light giggle, and footsteps that are purposely made soft, precedes the gleaming form of Milora Lomasa - the Arbiter, as it were, appearing not very far behind the spot that marked her Patriarch's entrance to the glade. It would appear that she had been tracking him. A glance at the surroundings, and the registration of a few choice and horrible sounds, is enough to knock any cheer right off of the girl's face. Griedan, horror; Meian, a particularly sickened expression; and Norran… Norran's situation is the one that spurs her into immediate action; the staff that she held in her hand is thrust aside and she retrieves her longbow from her back, grabbing an arrow from her quiver and attempting to nock it as swiftly as possible. The Seamel's eyes return to the Ranger, then look back at the bleeding woman now in his arms. With an impotent growl, slides his arms out from beneath the girl, careful to avoid damaging her with his blade. "Turn around," he snarls to the Freelander, grasping the arrow in the man's back with his free hand and giving it a sharp tug. The two dead Black Wildlings seem to have been acting alone at this point. No other attacks seem forthcoming from the wilderness. All that remains are the corpses of the Wildlings, the dead horses, and the wounded Fastheldians. Vhramis' mouth gapes open as the arrow is suddenly grasped and tugged, eyes widening, no response coming aside from a sharp inhale of breath. The quiver and bow are released, hands flailing about before finally grasping at the ground below him, fingers sinking in the dirt as the missile is yanked from his back. He topples forward, slumping against the tree, choking out a quiet, pained sob. Meian crumples down onto the forest floor, evidently no longer supporting her own weight at all. The girl's chest rises and falls only in the slightest, and to a casual observer not too close- with the ruin of blood on her chest and that dangerously placed arrow- she might well look dead already. The arc of his sword seems to go exactly as he planned, although Norran does seem a little surprised about just how well that plan works. He grins widely, pulling his sword back to hold upright once more as he turns to follow the sounds of battle to where he might next intervene. To his chagrin, there is none, the young Duke breathing a sigh and glancing back to the wildling. Carefully, he begins to poke the headless corpse for movement with the tip of his sword. He stays quiet for the moment. The Seamel winces tightly at Vhramis' reaction. He looks around, biting his lip as everything seems to have gone quiet. "We need to get help," he says, "I do not think I can get that out without hurting you further." He reaches down to collect Vhramis' bow for him. "Can you still move?" he asks, his voice tight with concern as he moves back to Meian's side, touching the side of her face, his expression pained. It does not appear to immediately register to Milora that the immediately danger has passed; her eyes sweep the grove and she emits a sort of strangled sound, produced from the back of the throat. At last the weapon is lowered and she looks, first wild-eyed towards Norran and then with some mixed emotion toward Meian. That girl is the wounded that she chooses to approach, quickly and with her bow and arrow still in her hand. "Sweet Light," she mutters, casting a glance at Lyddmull. Her lip is bitten; at last, she bends down and mutters something to Meian just below a whisper. It is hushed and choppy; she erects herself again, then, and fairly flies to Norran's side. "I am going for help. Are you injured?" she asks, her voice shakey. "Go to Light's Reach," comes Vhramis' response as he grasps onto the tree. "Get to the city... bring help. Soldiers," he mutters to Lyddmull. The ranger pushes himself up from the tree, finding himself at least slightly more able to move, though it's still through blinding pain as he turns to look to Meian. The blood oozing out from about the arrow embedded in her chest forces the ranger to choke back another worried and empathetic sob as he grasps for his black cloak, drawing the fabric in his hands to press it to her chest, doing what he can to at least slow the blood flow, even as his own pours freely from his back. Meian doesn't respond to Lyddmull's touch or Milora's whisper, her body still warm and her faint vital signs noticeable to either at their distance- but she seems more or less unresponsive altogether, her eyes closed and blood continuing to ooze from around the arrow shaft piercing her. The passing of the danger is not lost on Syton Temple. The cautious Freelander quickly emerges from behind the safety of a broad oak, headed directly to the wounded ranger and his Marked counterpart. He holds his staff down at his side, idle. No words seem to come to him now, so he just looks blankly from one face to the next. ---- ''Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs